


Traveler's Song

by Princess_Cocoa



Series: Tales of a Traveling Ginger [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy/Magical Realism AU, Gen, Traveler!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 04:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Cocoa/pseuds/Princess_Cocoa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I could tell you stories, Douglas."</i>
</p>
<p><b>Crossposted from the meme. Prompt:</b><br/>I was bored and curious one night and wrote a fic that will never see the light of day, because it was basically a campy "what-if" crossover between CP and an original story of mine. But I wrote this one paragraph half-asleep and I'm in love with it, so your prompt is to take it and run. Gen, please!</p>
<p>The paragraph can be found <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/6034.html?thread=11012498#cmt11012498">here.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He jumps off of the rock landing lightly on the sand below. The fall should have killed him, he is no longer surprised. In fact, he doesn’t care; he’s been here before - he knows how it works.   
  
A wave of pure azure water crashes silently against the crag he’s just descended from.   
  
He’s been walking for hours, days, months, years. The world around him doesn’t change. It is still a mystery.  
  
Skies of royal blue stretch endlessly on, finding themselves intertwined with the amethyst mountains beyond. He can see the mountains, but can not leave the beach. Boundless fields of sand trap him - there is no way past the ceaseless beige.   
  
He looks up and stares at the stars; they are bright as diamonds. They seem so much closer than usual - so much more tangible: more real.  
  
Real. Is that word even applicable? Is it truly as substantial as it’s made out to be? “Actually existing as a thing or occurring in fact”. Well this world is occurring, he is existing here. (Isn’t he?) How is he to know what’s true or false in a world full of mystery and contradiction?  
  
It feels strange thinking about these things, so he stops. He doesn’t like this world: does not like being out of control.  
  
So he walks on.  
  
The scene doesn’t change, as if he was expecting any different. He’s not tired, but he’s not energetic. He’s sick of this world, sick of the noiselessness, sick of the monotony. (But mostly he’s sick of loneliness).   
  
Until suddenly, it changes.  
  
He’s on the edge of the beach now, standing in a sea of emerald grass tall enough to obscure his waist. He’s surprised: it makes a sound. It’s quiet but it’s there - a gentle whispering as the blades move to and fro in the light breeze. There’s another sound too, one more familiar.   
  
It’s whistling. Someone is here.  
  
He plows his way through the grass, making his way for the outcropping of trees. But, like everything else in this world, they seem much closer than they really are.   
  
He tries to call out; his cries echoing throughout the field. Yet the whistling continues without a hitch - the woeful tune only growing louder as he gets ever-closer to the trees.   
  
The wind picks up (is it pushing against him?). He moves forward, straining to see past the aspens and the pines and the sycamores.  
  
The fire is the first thing he sees - it’s saffron light nearly blinding him. He can feel its heat, only adding to the illusion of its proximity.  
  
His pace turns from that of a quick stride to full-on running. He hadn’t realized it before (hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it before) but he wants so badly to be near that fire. He can hear it crackling, feel its warmth, and, best of all, he can see someone else next to it.  
  
He focuses on that figure; he will run for as long as it takes: days in this beautiful wasteland have taken their toll on him. Subconscious desires press themselves against the forefront of his mind - he hates this feeling of helplessness (but hates the feeling of being utterly alone even more).   
  
The dancing light produced by the fire settles, for a moment, on the figure and he has to stop. The hair - it’s definitely the hair. He knows that hair. He recognizes the curls and the ginger locks, though they seem much brighter here.   
  
“Martin.”  
  
He had intended it as a whisper, a hushed noise of exclamation. But this world tends to be contradictory. The sound is as loud as thunder, shaking the ground beneath his feet, drowning out the sound of the grass in the wind.   
  
The figure raises his head as he continues on.  
  
“Martin,” he calls again, hoping for recognition, hoping for a bit of normalcy.   
  
The wind kicks up, harder, even, than before. He pushes against it with all his might, not taking his eyes from the man - from Martin.   
  
Martin slowly turns his head, seemingly unaffected by the elemental plight that he’s going through.   
  
It takes a moment for him to see through the tear-inducing gusts: Martin is crying. Confusion dominates his features as he watches his struggle. After a few moments (minutes? hours?) he smiles.  
  
The small smile stays on his face as he slowly shakes his head, his lips moving to make way for speech in the form of another thunderous whisper.  
  
His name.   
  
“Douglas.”  
  
Gradually, Martin’s eyelids fall shut.  
  
The world shatters around him.   
  
Douglas, too, closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream, but it was, however, the first time someone else had been there with him.  
  
And really, of all people, why Martin?  
  
Better yet, why was he crying?  
  
Douglas shakes his head as he climbs out of bed. It’s all ridiculous; he’s never put much stock into the significance of dreams - why should he start now?  
  
Even if the dream is incredibly vivid.   
  
He comes out of the bathroom to find his phone ringing, though he’s not sure why; he was supposed to be at the airfield only fifteen minutes ago.   
  
He lets it ring for a couple more seconds before picking it up,   
  
“Missing me already, Carolyn?”  
  
“I’ll put it to you lightly, Douglas. I never miss you. Yes, I know, it’s heartbreaking. There is one person I’m missing though, and that would be Martin.”  
  
“Ah. Well, I regret to inform you that my handy Martin tracking device is in for repairs.”  
  
“Shame that. Well, since I know you haven’t left your house yet, you can go and retrieve our captain.”  
  
“Really Carolyn? He’s a whole fifteen minutes late, I don’t think that requires me dragging him in by the collar. Besides, I bet he’s on his way already.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I’m unclear as to what point you are attempting to make.”  
  
“The point is, why should I waste time and petrol to go pick up our illustrious captain when he’s probably pulling into the airfield as we speak?”  
  
“Well considering the fact that it’s nearly twenty past seven, ‘your time’ is, in fact, currently mine. And, coincidentally enough, your petrol also belongs to me. Unless you want to lose both your source of fuel and your job I suggest you do as I say.”  
  
“Oh no need for dramatics, Carolyn. I’ll go get him but I expect for this to be time that I’m paid for.”  
  
“In your dreams,” she replies and immediately hangs up.   
  
*  
  
Pulling up to the student house and seeing Martin’s van still parked out front was somewhat surprising to Douglas; he’d been fully expecting a call from Carolyn telling him to abort his mission and head for the airfield, Martin has arrived. Now he sees it’s a call that wasn’t going to be made.  
  
It is a bit worrying seeing that Martin is still at home - it isn’t like him to skip out on work and then not tell anyone. But he doesn’t dwell on it for too long: with his luck, Martin’s phone had probably flung itself out of the window just so that he wouldn’t have an alarm in the morning. God moves in mysterious ways in order to do lovely things for Douglas Richardson; however, for Martin Crieff, he makes sure to make things especially difficult.   
  
Making his way up to Martin’s poor excuse for a flat was an adventure in itself: college students - some hungover, some just woken up, some already silently studying - prowled the halls, sweatshirts and shoes of dubious cleanliness laid strewn about, and cups sat on various shelves. It was no wonder Martin had likely slept in, it looked like there had been a party of massive proportions last night.   
  
He opens the door to find that his captain is, in fact, asleep. He’s lying face down on the bed and he’s, somehow, ignoring the phone not two feet from his head that’s currently emitting what must be the most annoying ringtone in existence.   
  
He rolls his eyes and makes his way across the sparse room to the bed. He contemplates taking a picture of Martin for later blackmail but opts for simply waking him up.   
  
He nudges him none too gently and says, “Just because you’ve gone deaf, Sir, doesn’t mean you get to skip coming into work today.”  
  
Martin doesn’t respond.   
  
Douglas tries again, shaking his shoulder even harder. “Martin,” he says. “As much as I hate to break it to you, you’re going to have to wake up and face Carolyn’s wrath sooner or later. I’m sure both you and my eardrums would much prefer ‘sooner’.”  
  
When that doesn’t work Douglas steps back and takes a moment to make sure that Martin is, in fact, breathing - he’s becoming more worried than he’d like to admit. “Martin,” he whispers, shaking his head a bit. But before he can step forward to try once more to rouse him, Martin’s whole body jerks.  
  
“What,” he asks, his voice muffled by the pillow. He turns his face and Douglas notes the prominent tear tracks on his face.   
  
Douglas tamps down his previous worry as well as the surprise at seeing that Martin was crying and, instead of answering, stares pointedly at the still-ringing phone. Martin blinks a few times and finally seems to realize that his phone’s alarm is still going off.   
  
He groans when he sees the time: almost a quarter until eight. “Well that explains why you’re here,” he says, looking back at Douglas with bleary eyes. “I imagine Carolyn’s not impressed.”  
  
It wasn’t a question but Douglas answers anyway, “That’s putting it kindly. I take it you had a bit of a late night?”  
  
Martin laughs, “It was certainly loud but nothing I’m not used to by now. I thought I had gotten to bed at a reasonable hour, though. I’m not sure how I’ll explain this to Carolyn, I can’t even say my alarm stopped wo-. Oh.” Douglas watches as Martin brings his hands down from his face, examining his now-damp fingers.   
  
“Bad dream then, Sir?”  
  
Martin stays quiet for a bit and Douglas sees a strange look pass over his face before he chuckles and replies, “I don’t even remember. I suppose we should be off then.”   
  
Douglas backs away as Martin makes to stand up. “Right,” he says. “There’s no point in both of us driving so I’ll provide us both with transportation. How long will it take you to get ready?”  
  
“Not too long - a few minutes tops.”  
  
“Alright,” Douglas replies, turning around to leave, “I’ll just wait in my car.” But before he can make it to the door, Martin cries out.  
  
Douglas quickly spins around and watches as Martin clutches his chest and falls to his knees.   
  
“Martin,” he yells, and rushes over to where he is. “Martin what’s wrong, what hurts?”  
  
Martin’s face is contorted in pain and Douglas sits by helplessly as he gasps and grips his chest a little bit tighter again and again.   
  
“Martin, I’m calling 999, I need you to tell me what’s going on.”  
  
“Don’t,” he grinds out, staring intently at Douglas.  
  
“Don’t what? Don’t call? Martin it’s obvious you’re in need of medical assistance.”  
  
But Martin just shakes his head. “Don’t...,” he says again, “I...don’t...need...it.”  
  
“Excuse me if I don’t trust your medical wisdom. You’re going to the hospital.”  
  
“Douglas...,” he starts but is cut off by another gasp of pain. Though this time his hand unclenches and his eyes roll back in his head. Douglas just barely manages to catch him when he pitches forward, unconscious.   
  
He sits taking Martin’s vitals over and over again for the four minutes it takes for the ambulance to arrive.


	3. Chapter 3

Sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair next to Martin’s bed and watching all of the activity around him makes Douglas happy that he chose to get out of the medical career. He’s no stranger to hospitals but they still make him feel slightly stressed and uneasy. Luckily Martin has been put at the end of the ward so he spends some time looking out of the window at the city beyond.  
  
He sits still, uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts as he stares at the sky until he hears a familiar call.  
  
“Douglas!”  
  
He watches as a stern-faced Carolyn and frantic Arthur make their way over from the door of the ward.   
  
“Arthur,” he says, standing up to grab the steward by the arms, “Arthur stop, let him rest.”  
  
“But,” Arthur whispers, his voice so melancholy that Douglas is taken off guard. “Douglas, what...Skip. Is he ok? What happened to Skip, Douglas?”  
  
“Yes,” Carolyn interrupts, taking her place on the opposite side of the bed, “I’d like to know what happened too.”  
  
Douglas sighs and lets go of Arthur, allowing him to slide into the seat he’s just vacated. “No one is sure,” Douglas replies, pulling another seat over to sit down in. “I didn’t worry too much at the time, but I found Martin still asleep when I arrived, even though his phone’s alarm was blaring some ungodly noise. It took me three tries to wake him up after that. Finally, as I was leaving to allow him to get ready, he just fell.” Douglas gulps, he doesn’t like thinking about Martin’s face at that point. “He was holding his chest but the paramedics and doctors couldn’t find anything wrong there or anywhere else. They said he’s comatose now; they’re not sure when he’ll wake up.”  
  
Carolyn sits in silence for a moment before she asks, “Comatose. You mean in a coma, yes?”  
  
Arthur’s head snaps up, “But that’s...comas are bad right, mum? Does that mean Skip is really sick?”  
  
Douglas looks between the both of them, “Yes, he’s in a coma. But, Arthur, they can’t find anything physically wrong with him so that’s a start. Martin has spectacularly bad luck but thanks to that he knows how to get out of bad situations: I’m sure he’ll be fine.”  
  
Arthur nods and stands up, looking extremely out of place, “Right. How about coffee then? I don’t have my special mix but I’m sure I can find something just as delicious.” He smiles a bit and walks out when Carolyn and Douglas nod.  
  
Carolyn rounds the bed and takes Arthur’s former seat. It’s strange to Douglas, seeing her so emotional. It’s nothing obvious but it’s there in the set of her shoulders and the constant glances she shoots at Martin. “Well,” she says, “It’s a good thing we won’t be flying for a while.”   
  
Douglas is taken off guard by this statement, “I’m not sure I follow.”  
  
Carolyn looks at him for a moment before continuing, “I suppose you didn’t get a chance to watch the news: all charter airlines are grounded until further notice. There was an explosion - a nuclear power facility in India.”  
  
Douglas looks at the ground, “Good lord.”  
  
Carolyn nods, “It’s apparently unclear what caused it but until that’s figured out and there are no longer any health risks, any flights not taking scientists and doctors over there aren’t allowed.”  
  
“Well isn’t today just lovely,” Douglas says and sits back in his chair.  
  
*  
  
Seven o’clock that evening found an exhausted Douglas back in his original position next to Martin’s bed. It had taken some convincing but the nurse begrudgingly let him stay so long as he didn’t disturb the other patients (really?) and informed someone if Martin woke up.  
  
Though that didn’t look like it’d be happening anytime soon.   
  
“Well if you can’t beat them, join them,” he says as he tries to find a reasonably comfortable position in the seat. He’d taken the night shifts and he’s sure he’s going to regret it in the morning when he wakes up with a killer backache. But he finds that he doesn’t care.  
  
“You’ll be paying for my Paracetamol if I’m forced to stay here for more than one night, Sir. I suggest you wake up soon, I tend to go through those pretty quick when I get a backache: could get pretty expensive.” He leans back and closes his eyes.   
  
“Goodnight Martin.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s the beach again, but this time he’s not walking it; he’s looking down at it. He’s on a cliff watching the water lap lazily against the sand.   
  
It’s silent again and he finds himself longing for...something. Anything. (Frankly he wants to see Martin again. It’d be patently unfair if he were gone in both this world and the real one.)   
  
There’s that word again: real. He doesn’t know when he realized that this was a dream. He’s not sure he ever did. He just knows it’s not “real” - at least not in the traditional sense.   
  
He stands there staring at the water. He stands for seconds, minutes, hours, days: time has no place here, though he knows it’s been a long while.   
  
He looks up at the sky. It’s no longer navy blue, it’s black. An ebony blanket stretching on to infinity.   
  
There are no stars today.  
  
He hadn’t noticed how dark it is. If he was a man who frightened easily, he’d be running now - searching for light, though he knows it’d be futile. He tamps down any uneasiness, though; he can still see much farther than he should be able to - he’ll be fine here for awhile longer.  
  
He steps atop a nearby rock and spreads his arms. The urge to pitch himself forward into the water is almost too much. He knows he wouldn’t die but it’d be something new, it’d be a chance to end the tedium that’s ever-present in this world.   
  
The decision is almost taken out of his hands when a wave breaks against the rock face. It makes a noise. It’s a crash that’s both unexpected and terrifying in its volume. He jumps in surprise, almost falling forward.   
  
He steps backwards off of the rock. The sound is back. The wind is back. He turns around.  
  
Martin is back.   
  
He smiles again, that same small, sad smile.  
  
“Hello Douglas,” he says. His voice is barely audible but also the loudest thing that Douglas can hear - it is the wind that blows around him. He listens to it flow by him and disappear out over the ocean.   
  
“The wind isn’t going to chuck me off of the cliff before I get a chance to talk to you,” Douglas asks, his voice a whisper that mirrors Martin’s.   
  
Martin smirks and steps forward. He sets his elbows on a nearby rock ledge and rests his chin in his hands. They stand like that for a bit, watching the sapphire waves in companionable silence.  
  
“No one’s ever made it here before,” Martin suddenly says. He looks as if he wants to say more but he turns his head back to the water without another word.   
  
Douglas raises an eyebrow, "I should certainly hope not. This is my dream, after all.”  
  
Martin laughs. And laughs. Douglas doesn’t know what’s so funny but he waits it out without asking. “Oh Douglas,” he says, “I could tell you stories, Douglas.”   
  
Douglas waits for more but suddenly the wind kicks up again.   
  
“No. Martin, no, not this time,” Douglas cries against the maelstrom.  
  
“It’s time to wake up, Douglas,” Martin replies. He starts to whistle - it’s the same tune as before. He takes a few steps away and turns around.   
  
His eyes close, slowly, as if he doesn’t want to see the world go.   
  
The inky sky oozes from its confines above to consume everything in sight.


	5. Chapter 5

He wakes with a start, as cliché as that must sound. He reflects on his latest dream and comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t like feeling smothered by the sky, dream or not. Douglas sits ruminating for a few moments before he looks up.  
  
And meets the sea green eyes of his captain.  
  
It’s a surprising sight, to say the least. “Martin,” he cries as he stands to push the call button; but Martin is shaking his head. He gradually raises his arm and rests it on Douglas’s, thereby stopping his movement.   
  
He’s not sure why, but Douglas listens to the unspoken words and sits back down without alerting a nurse. “Are you still in pain,” he asks as he moves his seat closer.  
  
Martin simply smiles in response, chuckling as if the question were some kind of joke. (Much like the Martin in his dream had).   
  
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Sir, but that question isn’t usually meant to be a joke.”  
  
Martin’s chuckles die down and he lifts a hand to rub his chest as he says, “Of course I’m in pain. When am I not?”  
  
Douglas is, notably, at a loss for words - he has no idea how to respond to that. He feels Martin looking at him, searching his face for an emotional reaction. Douglas raises his head and locks eyes with Martin. He has stopped smiling - he looks so serious; he looks as if he wants to say something. So Douglas waits.  
  
“No one’s ever made it there before,” he says, not taking his eyes from Douglas’s.   
  
Douglas is hit with a feeling of déjà vu so powerful it threatens to suffocate him. He feels his eyes widen. He knows those words, they’re from his dream.   
  
The dream that he remembers every moment of; that’s not natural. (Right?)  
  
Martin smirks and abruptly breaks eye contact with Douglas to look out of the window. He’s quiet for a few minutes, just staring silently out at the world beyond.   
  
“I could tell you stories, Douglas,” Martin says suddenly, not looking away from the window. Douglas’s breath catches upon hearing him repeat yet another line from his dream: this is more than mere coincidence. Martin continues without acknowledging Douglas’s reaction. “I could spin tales of earth and air and sea, of what actually lies beyond the horizon, of ancient powers and even older languages, skysong and the music of the spheres and the depths. I could tell you of wars and the birth of stars, of broken souls that age without aging, of lightning strikes and hearts that are not your own, and people with waterfalls in their eyes.” He takes a deep breath, still refusing to look back at Douglas.   
  
“But you’d never believe me, no matter what I said or did. So I won’t,” and now he looks back at Douglas, immediately meeting his eyes with ones much older and wiser than they should be. “At least not now. I won’t say another word.”  
  
He leans back, seemingly exhausted, and closes his eyes. Douglas stares at him a moment longer, letting the words repeat themselves in his head a few more times. He allows them to sink in and that’s when he realizes. It’s the first moment, in fact, that Douglas realizes that there may be more to Martin than there originally seemed.  
  


* * *

  
Douglas found himself extremely eager, as strange as it sounds, to go back to sleep in the uncomfortable chair he’d occupied for the last few hours. So eager, in fact, that by the time he’d gone home, showered, and eaten while Carolyn and Arthur took over, he still had another four hours to go until he was supposed to return.   
  
He spent those hours on his couch thinking and researching. He decided, first, that he wasn’t going to get Arthur’s hopes up by telling him Martin had woken up; especially because a doctor had come by and said there was absolutely no change.   
  
Next, he contemplated Martin’s words for a long time until he reached the undeniable conclusion that he wouldn’t be able to decipher them without Martin’s help.   
  
Finally, he decided to look up the details of the explosion.   
  
News sites were still scrambling to get as much information as they could - apparently it was utter chaos in India at the moment. Journalists were throwing out all manner of causes, the number one being terrorism.   
  
Comparatively, the site that had exploded was relatively small but it was located in a dense area. The site itself was completely decimated and the death toll was still rising: expected to be in the tens of thousands both thanks to the explosion and radiation poisoning.   
  
The most important piece of information, at least to Douglas, was the time the explosion had occurred.   
  
7:48 am Greenwich Mean Time: almost, if not  _the_  exact moment that Martin had collapsed.   
  
Douglas had spent those last few minutes of his “off time” contemplating what exactly that might mean, if anything, and found himself sporting quite the headache.   
  
So now he finds himself back in the oh-so-familiar chair, waiting for sleep to claim him.  
  
If nothing else, he’s certain of one thing now: dream-Martin (if dream is an acceptable word in this case) isn’t just a figment of his imagination. He’s real, whatever that means, and he can help Douglas understand. (And isn’t that a funny thought, Martin being the one to teach Douglas something?)   
  
So today he won’t be lethargic, he won’t allow himself to get caught up by the scenery. This time, no matter what, he’s going to find Martin as early as he can.   
  
And he’s going to find out what the  _hell_  is going on here.


	6. Chapter 6

The sky is still pitch black when he arrives; it makes him shiver despite himself. It’s as if a pool is flying above him, ready to rain down again. He’d much prefer the shattering of the world to the consumption.  
  
Somehow he doubts that he’s going to get what he wants.  
  
He looks around and finds that the tawny sand is nowhere to be found - he’s left the beach behind. Somehow he’s both relieved and stressed. The beach was (somewhat) familiar territory, now he’s lost.  
  
He spins around, acquainting himself with the new landscape. He suspects it’d be gorgeous in the daylight. Now, though, in the darkness, it’s much too large.   
  
He stands in a field of grass the colour of chartreuse. It’s interspersed with all kind of flowers, their colours vary from crimson to copper to cream to charcoal. They’re lovely flowers, beautiful in an alien way; he’s sure he’s never seen these types of flowers before.  
  
He walks over to one and bends down to pick it from the ground. Who knows where he’ll end up next? He can spare a moment to examine it. He reaches for the stem before thinking better of it, he isn’t here to enjoy this strange form of nature: he needs to find Martin.   
  
He makes his way forward, no clear direction in mind. Eventually he’ll find Martin, he’s sure of it.   
  
So he walks.   
  
But this time he doesn’t have to go far.   
  
He notices him before the wind even has a chance to pick up.  
  
Martin turns his head and looks up at him from his spread-eagle position on the ground. He smiles, just like the last time and the time before that. “You were much quicker this time,” he says by way of greeting; his voice, for once, is a normal pitch.   
  
Douglas takes a seat next to Martin’s prone body and replies, “Well technically  _you_  found  _me_  last time so that doesn’t count. And the time before that I didn’t even know you were here. Frankly, I think I should get a free pass for that.”  
  
Martin hums in response and turns his head back to the sky.   
  
When he realizes Martin isn’t going to speak, Douglas says, “So you’re not going to tell me what you meant earlier today?”  
  
Martin smirks, “I knew you’d pick up on that.”  
  
“Well it was very difficult to ignore. When you repeated not one but two things from my-... from this world, I knew it couldn’t just be coincidence.”  
  
Martin takes a moment from his careful study of the sky to look at Douglas. “Tell me what you’ve figured out, then,” he says.  
  
Douglas rolls his eyes, “Not going to make it easy on me then, are you?”  
  
“I’ve already given you far more hints than I’ve ever given anyone else. I want to know what you’ve figured out and then I’ll help you.”  
  
“Right then,” Douglas begins and clears his throat. “I know that you’re...real here. At least, you’re not a figment of my imagination. This place probably isn’t either but I’m going to stay away from that topic for now. I know that you collapsed as soon as the explosion in India happened but, and you know I hate to admit it, I’m not sure what that means. You also said you’re in constant pain; I suspect that’s connected to your strange link with the explosion but I can’t be sure."  
  
"Finally, what you said today, it tells me that there’s much more to you than meets the eye, Martin Crieff. I have no idea what, exactly, you might be hiding behind that blundering captain persona but I’ve come here to find out.”  
  
Martin smiles up at the sky and turns his whole body so it’s facing Douglas. He props his head on his hand and with the other hand, begins mindlessly picking grass. “Humans sure do like destruction, don’t they,” he says and sighs, still staring at the ground.  
  
“Is that supposed to mean you’re not human? Or was that simply a moment of introspective thought?”  
  
Martin turns his eyes to Douglas, “I told you before: you’ll never believe me.”  
  
“Oh ye of little faith.”  
  
“Douglas...”  
  
“Martin, I’m not going to pretend that I understand or fully believe what’s going. But I can’t hope to try to comprehend all of this if you won’t tell me the truth. Despite all of my taunting, we’re friends, or had you not realized that?”  
  
“Of course I know-”  
  
“Good,” he interrupts, “Then please continue with your explanation.”  
  
Martin sighs for the second time in as many minutes and raises his hand to allow the grass that he’d picked to be carried away by the breeze.   
  
“This is my own personal world - my plane, so to speak. As I’ve said before, no one’s ever been here before. I’ve existed here for as long as I can remember - even before I was born.” He turns to look at Douglas and smirks. “Do you remember when you told me you were old enough to be my father?” Douglas nods and Martin turns his head back to the ground. “I can assure you that you’re not. I’ve been alive...” he stops moving for a moment. He blinks. “Well, I’ve been alive for a very long time. My physical body, that is, the one that you’re familiar with, is thirty two years old but it’s been that age for thousands of years. Since the beginning of the modern human race, as a matter of fact.”  
  
He lets fly another clump of grass. “I’m completely human except for the fact that I’m immortal.” With that he meets Dogulas’s eyes. “However here - this world, that is - isn’t physical. It’s more like...Well. It serves many purposes. I’ve been here since the beginning of time, of space, of everything. I’ve watched stars develop and die. I watched the sun form and I watched Earth develop itself from nothingness. From there I watched as it grew and as soon as humans took over, I was born as one.”   
  
He rolls himself onto his back. “I’m connected to the Earth now, and connected to the most powerful race: the humans. I feel pain when they die - though generally only when many go in quick succession - and when the earth itself is hurt. That explosion was...is painful. People are still dying from it. It was too much for me and I ended up back here.”  
  
He lazily turns his head back and forth in the grass, “Now that I’m human, this place is more of a sanctuary than anything. It reflects the...current state of affairs. I’m here to recuperate and will be until the deaths stop happening at such a quick pace. When that happens, the sky will clear and I’ll wake up. However, my physical body isn't technically sleeping now, so it'll take me a few days to recuperate.”   
  
He looks back at Douglas, “The sky was navy while you were here for the first time. It was a warning. I should have stayed home and called in sick but I thought I could handle it, whatever it was going to be. I was wrong, and now I’ve gone and unnecessarily worried you all.”  
  
Douglas breathes in. And out. And in once again before speaking, “So you’re...what? Some sort of God?”  
  
Martin laughs, harder than he had the night before. “If I was a god, I could do something - fix this miserable world. No, I think of myself more as a...traveler of sorts. I observe and represent. There’s one thing that’s absolutely certain though, one piece of information that I’ve known since I first appeared.” He meets Douglas’s eyes again, looking extremely weary all of the sudden. “If...no, when. When I die, when I cease to exist, then so will the world, perhaps even the universe.”  
  
He pushes himself into a standing position and the wind kicks up. Douglas knows how this works now. He stays seated and watches Martin.  
  
“I’ve lived for far too long Douglas. But I don’t want to die. Despite all the bad I’ve seen and felt, despite the destruction I witness among the humans that rule the world to which I’m connected, I know that there’s good to be seen as well. I know how wonderful you all are, and I don’t want to see your destruction - not in a million years.”  
  
As he talks the wind increases to a deafening roar. Douglas tries hard to stay upright and keep his eyes on Martin.   
  
“In my last moments, I’ll witness pure destruction and chaos,” he yells over the wind, his voice just barely making it to Douglas’s ears. “I’m going to fight hard to stay alive, if that’s all it takes.”  
  
Tears like crystals fall from his chin. “Close your eyes, Douglas,” he shouts.  
  
He begins to whistle that nameless tune that Douglas has heard so many times before.   
  
For once in his life, Douglas chooses to listen to his captain.   
  
He closes his eyes.  
  
And falls into the light of reality.


	7. Chapter 7

Douglas wakes to the face of a very worried Arthur.  
  
“Douglas,” he cries and jumps back a bit, nearly tripping over Martin’s bed in the process.   
  
“Arthur, what are you doing?”  
  
“Well it’s our shift! Mum said you needed your rest, though so we just let you be even though you slept really late. But then you started crying and I tried to wake you up because I’m always really grateful when Mum wakes me from bad dreams but I couldn’t and I remembered that you said that’s what happened with you and Skip so I got really really scared and told Mum that she should go and get someone to help. I don’t know if that’s what she went to do or if she just got annoyed of me but now she’s gone even though you’re awake now.”  
  
Douglas stands up, wipes his eyes, and stretches as Arthur is talking. “Crisis aborted then. And you don’t need to worry, Arthur; I’m old so I don’t wake easily.”  
  
Arthur looks as if he isn’t sure if he should believe him or not. After a few seconds he shrugs and starts to pace around Martin’s bed.   
  
Douglas can see that he’s jittery and needs something to do. He sits back down and says, “Arthur, I’m actually quite hungry after having slept for so long.”  
  
“Right,” Arthur says and starts walking towards the front of the ward, “I’ll get you something, Douglas! Then I can try to find Mum and tell her we don’t need a doctor anymore.”  
  
“Good man,” Douglas replies before settling back in his seat and looking at Martin.  
  
He hates to admit it, but he’s out of his depth here. For one thing, he is considering listening to a dream-Martin (but hadn’t he decided that he was real? Or had that been exhaustion talking?). Secondly: immortal? Alive since the dawn of time? Could that be true? And if it is, could Martin honestly be the one holding on to such wisdom and responsibility?  
  
The questions are never-ceasing. Martin: his inept and prideful captain. Martin: the down-on-his-luck  _pilot_. Martin: the ageless semi-godlike being? It doesn’t fit. None of this makes sense!  
  
If he believes it then everything he thought he knew about Martin and the world are completely thrown off of their axes. And if he doesn’t believe it then Martin is in the hospital with a phantom illness and Douglas is likely going crazy.   
  
And there was one more thing that was bothering him: why him? Why, after thousands of years of life, did this single, insignificant human being named Douglas get the privilege (or the curse) of entering Martin’s “sanctuary”?   
  
He doesn’t know - isn’t sure he wants to know.   
  
He’ll...have to think.   
  
To be fair, Martin had warned him. He could have listened and contented himself with simply sitting in that world with him and chatting about meaningless things.   
  
But after some consideration, he finds that he’s glad he chose to take the more difficult route. He finds he wants to figure out what all this means to him. He finds that he wants to believe Martin, even if that will take some convincing.   
  
Because Martin is his closest friend and he’ll be damned if he lets a little age difference ruin their relationship.   
  
*  
  
It takes Douglas two days to decide.   
  
Two days of sitting in the hospital. Two days of avidly watching the news for more information on the explosion. Two days of dreamless nights. Two days, he decides, too long.   
  
He assumes his doubts about Martin blocked him from his world, but he can’t be sure. He doesn’t even know how he ended up there in the first place.   
  
He sits in his usual seat watching Martin and waiting for sleep to claim him.   
  
He wonders, briefly, how much longer this is going to last - how much longer Martin is going to be trapped.   
  
He hopes it’s not long.


	8. Chapter 8

The sky is lighter today. A smoky grey. The calm just after a storm.   
  
It’s made entirely of clouds: clouds that move but don’t allow the light to shine through.   
  
Not yet.   
  
He’s standing in snow atop one of the azure mountains he’d seen so long ago. The temperature, despite the deep layers of ice and snow around him, is comfortable, as it always has been.  
  
The wind is already here, a light breeze that ruffles his hair and only slightly disturbs his shirt.   
  
He looks up and sees Martin sitting, cross-legged on a steep slope. He’s whistling his odd tune and looking at the sky, watching the clouds like cotton balls move languidly through the air. He hasn’t even noticed him.   
  
He moves forward at a gentle pace, relishing the noise of his shoes crunching the fluffy snow as he steps down on it.   
  
Martin still isn't aware of his presence, lost in his thoughts as he appears to be.   
  
He stops a few feet away and observes him for a moment. “Smile, Sir,” he calls, his voice echoing for miles, “I’ve been told it adds years to your life.”  
  
Martin’s head whips around, his eyes are wide. “You’re here,” he says, his voice filled with disbelief.   
  
“An excellent observation,” Douglas replies, smirking as he does so.   
  
“But that means...You can’t. I don’t...Why are you-I mean, how did you...”  
  
“Oh, so your poor articulation isn’t a ruse then.”  
  
A somber look overtakes Martin’s features as he turns his head away.   
  
Douglas sits down beside him and gives a gentle nudge. “Relax, Martin, I’m just kidding.”  
  
“I’m not a different person, just so you know. It doesn’t work for me to try to maintain such an elaborate lie for so long. Of course I don’t usually stay in one place for as long as I've been with you all.”  
  
“Well, I knew that. No one could hope to fake being such a complete berk all the time,” he smirks.  
  
Martin crosses his arms, a familiar petulant look settling in on his face. “I’m not a berk,” he says before he smirks a bit, adding, “And you should really learn to respect your elders.”  
  
Douglas laughs hard at that and wipes a tear from his eye as he sobers up. “So then, I’m here, what does that mean?”  
  
“I guess it means you believe me,” Martin replies and looks up at the sky.  
  
“I do,” Douglas says, and waits until Martin meets his eyes before continuing. “It’s crazy, but I believe you.”  
  
Martin smiles; it’s a little brighter than before, but still much more despairing than Douglas would like. “So what now,” he asks, looking lost.   
  
“Millions of years old and you still look to me for the answers?”  
  
“Call it keeping perspective.”  
  
“Well, somehow, despite being near me for this long, you still look quite morose, Sir. I don’t have any inclination to move from this spot, so why don’t we start with those tales? Those stories you were describing to me earlier? You look as if you need to get things off of your chest.”  
  
Martin gives him a watery smile. “Yeah,” He says, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight has been lifted from them. “I think that...That’d be nice. I’d like that.”  
  
They sit for days, months, years as Martin spins his tales, his voice echoing between the jagged rocks that surround them. Douglas watches as the sky clears - the clouds moving and letting through a clear, crystal blue.   
  
He smiles as he listens: he’s done what he was meant to, he can feel it.   
  
He’s helped him, helped his best friend.   
  
He’s shown Martin that he’s not alone.


	9. Chapter 9

When he opens his eyes, he’s surprised.   
  
There was no hurricane of wind, no destruction of the world around him, just...calm. He had closed his eyes as he listened and after awhile, he opened them to find himself here, back in the hospital.   
  
He suspects Martin will wake soon so he doesn’t move from his perch.   
  
He sits quietly humming to himself for an indeterminable amount of time until Martin opens his eyes.   
  
It’s a slow process, and almost as soon as they’re open, Martin looks exhausted enough to go back to sleep but he doesn’t. He smiles at Douglas and it’s not the sad smile he’s seen so many times before, it’s relaxed, it’s carefree.   
  
It’s happy.   
  
“That’s a tune my mother sang to me when I was a child,” he explains, his voice cracking from long periods of disuse.   
  
Douglas hadn’t realized that he’d been humming the very song that Martin had been whistling so many times before in that other world.   
  
It was strange to think that someone as old as Martin had been a child, had a mother, had lived a normal life. “It’s lovely,” he eventually responds.   
  
Martin smiles wider and nods, closing his eyes, fast asleep. Douglas calls the nurses over and sits back.   
  
When Arthur and Carolyn arrive he tells them the good news: Martin’s woken up, he’ll be fine, he can go home soon.   
  
Arthur cheers and Carolyn’s mask of worry disappears. They both take a seat alongside Douglas and they sit, waiting.   
  
Douglas hums the familiar tune as they wait.   
  
“Whoa Douglas that’s great! What is that,” Arthur asks, sitting at the very edge of his seat as he awaits an answer.  
  
“Hm?”   
  
“That song that you’re humming, Douglas. What is it?”  
  
Douglas looks from Arthur back over to Martin. “I suppose,” he starts, “it’s called the Traveler’s Song.”  
  
“Well it’s...it’s...brilliant!”  
  
“Yes,” Douglas agrees, “It is, isn’t it?”   
  
He sits back and continues to hum. He smiles as he looks around.   
  
He's sure Martin still has a countless number of stories to tell. Stories that he can freely share now; because Martin’s not some lonely traveler, not anymore.   
  
He’s not alone.   
  
And he won’t be for quite awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I liked this universe so much I decided that I'd likely write more for it and made it into a series. With school and all, it will probably be awhile before more shows up but I'm already researching some history specifics for a future part, so if you liked this, be ready for more :).
> 
> The stories in the series definitely won't have any order, so alongside the ideas I have floating in my head, I'll gladly take prompts either on here or on my [tumblr](princesscocoa.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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